Halfway 'Round the World
by emerald-soco
Summary: His plane takes off and lands without incident and he's not a morbid guy, but Jim's a little disappointed. Oneshot, takes place way, way back when Jim was going to Australia.


-1Ok, so I wrote this forever ago and always planned to do more with it, but hey, it's not gonna happen. I figured I should post something, just to get me started again (my muse has been absent for far too long). As always, let me know what you think!

**Halfway 'Round the World**

_Off the coast of Australia, I dove way down deep_

_And all that I saw, that Great Barrier Reef_

_But it was nothing, nothing compared to you._

His plane takes off and lands without incident and Jim's never been a morbid guy, but he's a little disappointed. He's not thinking _That would show her_, but a tiny little part of him imagines her draped over his coffin, sobbing inconsolably.

It might be nice, he muses, to finally have some effect on her.

But it's a smooth ride and he doesn't have any near-death experiences, just three vodka tonics and a forced flirtation with the stewardess, and all of it makes him feel like a character in some lame movie-of-the-week.

That reminds him that there actually _is _a lame film in the works, an entire documentary of how badly he's crashed and burned before, and he motions the stewardess over one more time before they touch ground.

XXX

Australia is beautiful, he gets that, but his first thought is _Wow, Pam would love this_ and after that his jaw clenches and he slides his sunglasses on and makes himself stare straight ahead, ignoring the scenic route his cab is taking to the hotel.

"Are you here for business or pleasure?" the concierge inquires politely and that one really makes him think.

"Both," he decides after a pause that was probably too long, but whatever, it's not like he has to impress anyone. This woman's hair is pin-straight and even though she's sitting behind a desk marked 'Reception', she looks wrong, wrong, wrong. "Can you tell me where the bar is?"

XXX

It's a different day here. He thinks that should mean something, but the only thing it does is confuse him and he ends up blind drunk on _both_ days that Pam's wedding may or may not be on.

XXX

During the Jeep tour, one of the cute college-aged girls in his group winks at him and he lifts his fingers in acknowledgement. It feels like a betrayal, though, and he resolves to keep his hands to himself until she bounds over to him at the tour's conclusion and introduces herself.

"I'm Molly," she announces, with no sign of self-consciousness whatsoever. He has to shake then, doesn't he, it's only polite, and it's her who holds on just a beat too long, not him - and, anyway, he doesn't have anyone to betray. Why should he feel guilty?

"Jim," he replies, unsure of what to do with his hand once she's released it.

"Nice to meet you, Jim." Her voice drops a decibel over his name, like it's a secret between just the two of them. "Want to get a drink?"

She's too young, too blonde, and he's willing to bet money she would never choose a teapot over an iPod, but she laughs a little at his obvious discomfort and he thinks, _Well, then. Okay._

It's nice to know what someone wants, for a change.

XXX

He sees a kangaroo up close and personal, and that makes him smile.

He reaches for his camera, wanting to capture the moment, and just as the shutter clicks a tiny joey peers out of its mother's pouch. It's a perfect picture, but in his mind's eye he can only see Pam, pressing her palm against her own swollen stomach, smiling over her shoulder at the father of her child, and even in this absurd, heatstroke-induced hallucination, it is not him.

Back at the hotel that night, he shakes the film (only half-used, but whatever, it's seven dollars and a memory he wants nothing to do with) out of its compartment and tosses it into the trash.

If only he could get rid of the rest of his memories so easily.

XXX

The hotel offers free surfing lessons, so he tries that. He's always wanted to learn and, hey, he's got the hair for it.

His instructor tells him it's all about balance, about knowing the difference between where you are and where you need to be on the board. "You've got to know when to go for it," are her last words of wisdom before he paddles out.

He laughs and doesn't say that timing has never been his strong suit.

Later, though, when he comes up yet again with a mouthful of salt water and his board nowhere in sight, he sees the sympathy flash in her eyes and thinks she gets it.

XXX

He sends Pam a single postcard in lieu of a wedding gift.

It's a picture of the beach, unbelievably blue waves cresting over fine white sand, and scrawled across the top it reads, _Wish you were here._

It's not a hidden message or anything. He just likes the picture, thinks she'll appreciate this view of the other side of the world. It's just a beach - a beach she'll never see, but still.

He agonizes all night, pacing his hotel room when he should be out exploring this whole new continent, and finally decides to leave it blank. Writes nothing on the back and scrawls _Mrs. Pamela Anderson _(and how did he never see _that_ and mock her for it?) across the address line.

Maybe it's the time difference (or the slow postal service or the miles and miles between them), but he doesn't hear back.


End file.
